


Not Very Rock and Roll

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Awkward Flirting, F/F, Groupies, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite being in a band, Morgana hasn't exactly got the "rock and roll" thing down yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Very Rock and Roll

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Summer Pornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/) Bonus Challenge of "rock and roll".

Morgana was curled up in her bunk, on her forth book of the tour, scribbling half-thought out lyrics that would never see the light of day in pencil in the margins. She would have much rather been in a quiet studio as on the goddamn tour bus, trying not to listen to Arthur bossing about Merlin, the world's most incapable yet oddly efficient roadie. Or listen to the girls outside screaming about how they would do _anything_ for Arthur, their singer or Gwaine, on lead guitar or even Percival, the stoic drummer. Only she seemed to escape this whole groupie lark, though she couldn't say whether it was because her thick black eyeliner, her fondness of using her bass as a weapon when blokes got too handsy or her utter disinterest in fame and partying, and in men in general. A very small part of her sulked that the boys always got hot women always throwing themselves at them while none of them ever fell at her black leather platform booted feet. 

When the shouting between Arthur and Merlin dissolved into what Morgana could only hope was fucking, she closed her book and carried it outside into the fresh air. She lit a cigarette and breathed in to combat the clean smell of the great outdoors.

"Excuse me, are you Morgana Le Fay?" A quiet voice asked from the shadows. 

Morgana didn't even bother looking up from her page but she stubbed out her fag and recited her practised speech in a monotone. "Yeah. And yeah, the rest of my merry men are in there and yes, if you wait long enough and promise not to talk to any journos, maybe Gwaine will come and shag you."

"Actually," the voice spoke out again, more confidently now. "It was you I was hoping to... meet."

Morgana looked up, her attention caught. The woman wasn't a shaking teenybopper and there was a streak of purple running through her dark curls. Morgana cleared her throat and deemed her worth shutting her book for. "Really?"

"Really. I'm Gwen, by the way," she said by way of introduction.

Morgana held out her hand. "A pleasure."

"Indeed," Gwen said taking her hand and shaking it.

Morgana smiled awkwardly, at a loss for what to say. She was used to the screaming and the gushing, even the fawning from blokes who thought they stood half a chance but trying to subtly flirt with a woman who actually viewed her as a human being rather than a goddess, now that was a challenge. Finally, thankfully, Gwen broke the ice by nodding down at her book.

“Poetry?” she asked, gleaning the obvious from the title.

“Yes, sorry,” Morgana said, blushing to her roots. “Not very rock and roll, I know.”

“You must be joking,” Gwen said, gently slipping the book out of her hands and opening the page where Morgana’s bookmark rested. “What is rock and roll – or any music for that matter – but a backdrop for poetry? But you know that.”

Morgana blushed again, remembering the badly scrawled lyrics dotted about the place. She took a step closer to Gwen, probably closer than was strictly necessary and ran her finger down the spine of the book. “Shame I can’t write it myself or I would be a much happier woman. It’s not really for me, all this fame lark. Give me the quiet life, any day.”

“So I see,” Gwen said, tracing her finger over an underlined stanza. “At night, I do not know who I am, when I dream, when I am sleeping.”

Morgana stared into Gwen’s eyes, the line delivered perfectly, exactly as it sounded inside her head. She drew in air, and the woman’s perfume, to continue the thought. “Awakened, I hold my breath and listen...”

The line trailed off, the rise and catch of Gwen’s chest and the silence that followed as she held her breath was like music in Morgana’s ears. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember a single line or verse of any other poem in all existence. Her own breath had stilled in her chest and if she didn’t do something, she knew the tension would kill her.

Wrapping her fingers around Gwen’s wrist, the very same one that held the book, she pulled her closer until casting all caution to the wind, she captured her lips in a kiss. Breathing again was dizzying and she was sure she’d stumble but Gwen held tightly onto her waist as she pushed them back into the shadows the bus cast.

Stifling a moan as Gwen scraped her teeth over her throat, her fingers slipping down under her skinny jeans and over her clit, Morgana realised that this was the first time she’d gotten off with a groupie. Or a stranger. Or a woman, even. Not to mention it being more or less in plain sight and not in the most hygienic or romantic of places. How very rock and roll, she thought, even if she did say so herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Poem quoted is Mysteries by Dannie Abse, no copyright infringement intended, I just happened to see it on the Underground (they put poetry on trains now, when did that happen?) and it made me think of Morgana and I was already writing this so that's the story there.
> 
> As of 01/01/18, I'm opting to disable comments. [More information here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13077201).


End file.
